


Saturday Nights

by rane_ab



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Crossdressing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-17
Updated: 2013-02-17
Packaged: 2017-11-29 16:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/688854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rane_ab/pseuds/rane_ab
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She has too strong a jawline underlining an irresistibly pouty red mouth.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saturday Nights

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the [Summer Pornathon](http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com) \- this version is slightly expanded.

He sits at the back because that’s where he started out once, tagging along with the birthday boy, interested in celebrating only; now Merlin hasn’t missed a performance in months. Her voice isn’t perfect, a shade too heavy, but once she’s on stage, it’s impossible to look away.

He sits at the back, because then at least she won’t glare at him the _whole_ time; it’s always like that, ever since Merlin has proven he’s the only person capable of tripping over someone else’s evening dress. 

After, she’ll smile at everyone and scowl at him, which is his cue to buy her a drink. 

She has too strong a jawline underlining an irresistibly pouty red mouth. She doesn’t talk much about herself; Merlin tells her everything, punctuated by her snarky comments and bracketed by her smirks. He gives as good as he gets; he doesn’t remember the last time he had so much fun before he met her. 

She always gives away more than she intends to in her eagerness to scoff at him. He’s sure she does something in business, which surprises him, and that the club belongs to her father, which surprises him even more. Mostly, he learns to read the nuances of her tone, the tired lines of her face.

He never gives her flowers like some do. He doesn’t tell her Saturdays are the highlight of his week, because then he’ll have to think too much about this, though mostly because he suspects she might never speak to him again. So he walks away, every time, and just lets himself grin at the ceiling, feeling hot all over, when he lies alone in his bed after their evenings together.

Except sometimes, when he’s very, very lucky, and she’s too tired or too pleased with herself, he gets to touch her. Well, almost. 

What it comes down to is that she will shove him down on some surface somewhere not entirely public and fuck herself on his cock, muttering _shut up, shut up, shut up_ and making Merlin feel like he will burst with sheer want. It’s really rather unfair: Merlin usually ends up shirtless with his slacks somewhere around his ankles, mostly naked but for his shoes, and she will take off her stockings almost primly, step back into her high-heeled pumps, and straddle him with her dress draped over them. 

Merlin wants to touch her everywhere: run his fingers over her heavily made up face, mouth at the solid thighs he sometimes catches a glimpse of, even though they probably shouldn’t turn him on as much as they do. He knows her breasts aren’t real, but he still wants to feel them, or maybe burrow underneath them to suck on her nipples.

But she pins him down, and he doesn’t think about how she shouldn’t be able to do that. She snaps at him when he tries to reach out, 'Do I need to fucking tie you down?', rude as she otherwise never is, and it sends a jolt through him.

He always fights her, can’t help himself, tries to bury his face in her neckline where she smells so good. The first time, he thought he’d ruined it, but now he rather thinks she likes it, even as she pulls on his hair and pinches his nipples in retribution, and Merlin moans too loudly in the shabby dressing room.

Sometimes, she’ll climb off him after he’s finished and turn her back to him; more often than not, lately, she’ll grope herself through her dress and make it go wet all through, while Merlin stares and stares. Except.

Except last week, when she looked so exhausted, and she let him struggle against the grip of her hand and kiss her for too long before moving on, and after, after, she came all over his stomach. And for a moment, she rubbed it into his skin, before stumbling off him, rubbing her mouth tiredly and looking away; it felt strange, but mostly it made Merlin’s heart beat too loudly. 

Merlin thinks he’s tired, too, tired of waiting for he doesn’t know what, tired of being afraid, tired of missing her when she’s reduced to the ache of healing scratches on his back during the week.

She always gives away more of herself than she intends to, and it’s surprisingly easy to track her down at work on a Friday. The sun filtering in through the office window is as just as kind to the golden, shorter hair, and those thighs look amazing in dress trousers. Arthur’s glare, too, is every bit as withering.

Merlin grins, can’t help it, feels the blood thud pleasantly through his veins in the way it always does on Saturday nights, in a way he wasn’t quite expecting it to, today. 

Arthur stands very still when he says, ‘What the hell are you doing here?’ while Merlin sways forward a little when he replies, ‘I was wondering if I could buy you a drink.’

Without the make-up, the skin underneath Arthur’s eyes looks thin and too dark. He stares at Merlin for a long time; every wall Merlin is so familiar with is up, up, up, and nothing good seems to be happening within their confines. 

But then someone knocks on the door, and they both jump. Arthur’s fingers dig into Merlin’s neck as he guides him out, his attention already half on the visitor when he snaps, ‘The lobby. Eight. Sharp,’ dismissing Merlin with a last unnecessary push. 

Merlin huffs, annoyed; rubs his neck. He catches Arthur looking back just before the door closes; he looks just like _her_ , and for a second, Merlin sees uncertainty, and something that just might be hope.

Maybe Merlin is projecting, but then again he seems to have a date tonight; he can still feel the warmth of Arthur’s hand, and if that’s not a good reason to grin stupidly, well, too bad. He has to do something to pass the next five hours, after all. 

His heart beats steadily, happily, as he bounds down the stairs, and he wonders what it would be like, having Saturday nights every day of the week.


End file.
